


Waiting at the Hub

by eeyore9990



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Get Together, M/M, Vague Spoilers, oblivious pining bastards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 12:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1428463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>This is a really bad time for Natasha to be off running around in wherever-istan and an even worse time for Phil to be jet setting around the world with his replacement team.  Yeah, no, Clint’s not at all jealous and petty; whatever do you mean?</i>
</p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>Something fishy is going on at SHIELD, so Clint runs to one person he trusts above all others.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>
  <i></i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting at the Hub

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AdamantSteve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/gifts).



> Written for adamantsteve. Thanks for making my dash a wonderful place.

Something is going on at SHIELD. Clint doesn’t know what it is exactly but he’s started taking to the vents more often because he just _doesn’t trust_ his co-workers anymore. Especially now that there are all these new hired goons.

Look, SHIELD has plenty of highly trained goons already, there was no _need_ to hire more, so Clint’s internal alarms started screeching the second he saw a new face. His inner-Natasha is laughing at him, and his inner-Phil is worried about his paranoia and trying to pressure him to set up an interview with psych.

Only the psych department has had an overhaul and… and Clint recognizes that guy that just walked past him. Holy fucking shit.

He recognizes him as one of the mercenaries he hired when Loki was playing around in his head. Fuck.

Fucking fuck fuck.

This is a really bad time for Natasha to be off running around in wherever-istan and an even worse time for Phil to be jet setting around the world with his replacement team. Yeah, no, Clint’s not at all jealous and petty; whatever do you mean?

Clint goes to Finance and hangs out around Marjorie’s desk, flirting outrageously with her until she gets up to go get them both some coffee, and then he quickly rifles through her stacks of reports until he sees one with the Phil-Jet’s acquisition code on it. The stack is rearranged and the form is a perfectly crisp paper airplane by the time Marjorie makes it back. Fifteen more minutes of winking and flexing later and Clint slides out of there with no one the wiser and Marjorie still firmly in his back pocket.

He’d feel badly about leading her on, but he knows for a fact she’s happily married to her wife of two years and only flirts with him because she knows it’s completely safe to do so. It’s not exactly a secret around the place that Hawkeye is totally gone on Coulson. Well, it’s a secret ONLY to Coulson. Because the man is the most competent, genius-level idiot Clint’s ever met.

Clint borrows a Quinjet without prior authorization—he’s not worried because if he’d put in for prior authorization, someone in SHIELD would notice the anomaly. As it is, he gets away clean with only some vague growling from AD Hill. She’ll make him do extra paperwork to make up for the small theft later, and forget all about it until his next infraction.

Because he’s not an idiot, Clint doesn’t go directly to the Phil-Jet. He figures out where Phil’s going to end up on the back side of his mission—the Hub—and goes there instead. He’s a level 7 thanks to the Avengers Initiative, and that opens most doors at SHIELD facilities for him.

But the oddness continues at the Hub, the people here almost more obvious in their secret evilness than those back at HQ were, and it’s got Clint standing with his back to the wall and his hand itching to reach for his bow. The other agents go about their business—because no one can say that SHIELD agents are gawking schoolkids—and the Agent in Charge agrees to let Agent May know that Hawkeye has classified materials for her perusal.

He doesn’t, but he also doesn’t think she’s going to care too much. He and May go way back—she taught him how to fly—and she’s probably rolling her eyes and muttering under her breath about him doing anything to get into Phil’s perfectly creased pants.

If only.

By the time the Phil-Jet lands at the Hub two days later, Clint is ready to vibrate out of his skin. Something’s _rotten_ in Denmark, okay? He has no proof, but he can feel it in his bones. And Phil is the only goddamn person he trusts to listen to him and treat his hunches with something more than scorn.

Did he mention he was gone on Phil?

But then Phil steps off his super-duper awesome jet beside some guy in a black leather jacket—and really? REALLY?—and Clint goes calm and quiet because it really sucks to get replaced by a younger, prettier boytoy. Especially when he didn’t get any of the benefits of being a boytoy in the first place.

May sees the look on his face, rolls her eyes—he knew she would, he KNEW IT—tells him to meet her at the small commissary for a drink, and then smacks the back of his head on her way past him.

Clint would pay more attention to the slap, but he honestly can’t, because he’s too busy losing his goddamn mind. Phil is. Phil. Is. He’s…

Clint’s known Phil for a lot of years. They’ve _done_ things together—not those things, more’s the pity—and Clint has seen Phil in a lot of states. He’s seen him scorched and ruffled and bleeding and shot, but mostly he’s seen him perfectly pressed. Perfectly. With an exquisitely knotted tie, a tailored suit-jacket, and creases in his pants so sharp Clint’s often wondered if he’d cut himself on them.

Prior to this moment, Clint had only had this instant visceral reaction when seeing Phil in his SHIELD jumpsuit and his PT shorts. Phil’s _legs_ , holy Jesus on a pogo stick…

But Phil is grinning. He’s. He’s _grinning_ , while looking in Clint’s direction, and his tie is missing. It’s _missing_. And his collar is.

Clint can feel his chest working like a bellows as he tries without much success to regulate his breathing.

Phil’s collar is popped. It really is. Clint wishes like fuck he’d brought some sort of camera, because Nat’s never going to believe this shit. Not in a million years. She might, however, believe just how close Clint is to coming in his overly-tight uniform pants after just ten seconds of feasting his eyes upon the _person_ that Phil has become.

Clint says something, a greeting or whatever, but it’s all garbled, and then he spins on his heel and takes off after May because he’s seriously not prepared for this. He is so not prepared.

He might have been more prepared if he’d looked back long enough to see the disappointment on Phil’s face when Clint dashes away after an abrupt, cool-seeming greeting. Skye, who’s so much more perceptive than anyone ever gives her credit for, winces and lays a gentle hand on Phil’s arm.

Clint catches up to May, shoves some blank paper in a manila envelope into her hands to maintain his cover, and then gulps down the orange juice she sets in front of him.

"I’m fucking Ward," is the first thing out of her mouth.

Clint only dribbles a little bit of juice down his shirt—it’s black, so whatever—and turns to her with a raised eyebrow.

"Coulson might be a blind idiot, but I’m not. I saw the look on your face when you saw Ward with him. Trust me, kid, Coulson’s all yours. You just need to pull your head out of your ass and go get him."

"Does your programming allow you to use such foul language, Agent May?" Clint asks, grinning brightly. He can afford the cheek because, fuck yes! Phil’s not fucking the new boytoy.

"When I told him you were here," May says, looking straight ahead, her expression completely blank, "he _fussed with his hair_. It was the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever seen a grown man do. Would you _please_ put that man out of his misery?”

Clint’s in the middle of trying to find a way to ask her _but does he **like me** like me_ , when a sharp little elbow connects with his side. He’s turning, his sidearm pulled and pointed before he registers that the woman assaulting him is one of the people who’d sauntered off the Phil-Jet with Phil’s new agent entourage.

"Oh my god, you incredible, muscley _jerk_. How could you do that to him?” She seems to realize she’s about two seconds from having a personal religious experience—death is a religious experience, right?—and actually says, “Meep!”

"Told you so," May grunts, then sighs loudly and adds, "Please stop threatening the rookies, Hawkeye."

"Hawkeye? You’re _Hawkeye_? Oh my god, I’m going to get shot by Hawkeye,” the newbie breathes, which is what finally breaks through Clint’s fight-or- (he never quite got the _flight_ bit right) instinct.

He safety’s his weapon and smoothly slides it back into his thigh holster. With a grunt, he turns back to his orange juice, putting the newcomer from his mind. That is, until she elbows him again.

He makes a _is she kidding me with this_ face at May before exasperatedly turning his attention back to the very young woman at his side. “You got a problem, lady?”

"I’m Skye, and you made Coulson sad. So yeah, I got a big goddamn problem, _Hawkeye_. And my problem’s not going away until you _fix it_.”

"Yeah? And how do you suggest I fix it?" Clint asks, reluctantly impressed with this very unSHIELD-like agent.

"I dunno. You’re an Avenger. Figure something out."

"I always heard blowjobs were a good way to ask for forgiveness." May mutters so low only Clint can hear her. He hopes.

Clint groans to himself at the mental image of getting on his knees and sucking Phil’s dick—he has a metric fuckton of fantasies to draw from for the mental image—and then slides off his chair. “Fine, whatever, I need to talk to him anyway.”

"Really?" Skye asks, sounding at once thrilled and surprised. "You’re going to talk to him about the insane amounts of UST between the two of you?"

May barks out a laugh and shakes her head, throwing back the rest of her water. “Come on, Skye. Let me explain a thing or two about men and their ability to communicate.”

Clint flips her off, but goes in search of Phil anyway, because that was the entire point of him coming to the Hub in the first place. When he finds him, Phil’s locked in a conference room, staring down at a few different glowing screens. Clint has to pause a moment in the (lockpicked) doorway to breathe because holy shit, the glowing blue of the screens just highlight Phil’s beautiful fucking eyes and… yeah. He might be delivering blowjobs with or without Phil’s consent if this keeps up.

"Sir," he says with a shaky version of his normal, cocky grin.

Phil looks up and his expression shifts from focused exhaustion to focused… something else. Something softer, but more intense. “Barton,” he says, and his voice goes straight to Clint’s gut and twists it up.

"Do you… have a minute?" he asks, eyes sliding around the room and taking in all the various recording equipment hidden in it.

"I always have time for my favorite agent," Phil says, which just startles a laugh out of Clint.

"I’ll be sure to tell Natasha you said so."

They stare at each other for so long that Clint finally realizes he’s stopped breathing only because his body gives a great, heaving gasp to get oxygen back into his lungs. “Um,” he says, always eloquent.

"Let’s go to my office," Phil murmurs, and Clint knows he’s not imagining the slight tinge of pink riding Phil’s cheekbones.

They walk side by side out to the Phil-Jet, shoulders almost brushing they’re so close, and when they’re finally inside it, Clint sees nothing because all he can focus on is the way Phil’s hand is pressed into the small of his back as he directs Clint to an office near the nose of the jet. When they’re inside, and the door’s closed, Clint whispers (because that’s as much as he can get his voice to do while his entire body is fighting not to just climb on Phil), “There’s something wrong at SHIELD.”

"I know," Phil murmurs back, employing a smooth act of ventriloquism so that any video of his face won’t be able to be used for lip reading. God, he’s so fucking _smart_ and Clint is so fucking gone on him.

But… wait… 

"You know?" Clint asks, and hates how fucking small and hurt his voice sounds.

"This last mission…" Phil says, and then sighs. "Barton, if you hadn’t been here waiting for me, I was going to fly the jet to New York and pick you up personally. Whatever’s happening, it’s going to explode soon. I’ve already alerted Romanov."

"Me too," Clint says, and it’s even true. He’d thought about it after arriving at the Hub and sent her a coded message to put her on her guard. Not that she was ever _off_ her guard, but she was his soul mate. He wasn’t going to let her get stabbed in the back by SHIELD.

"Good."

They stand there, in an office on a jet in the middle of nowhere, just staring at each other. Finally, Clint can’t stand it anymore and he lifts his hands, tucking the collar of Phil’s shirt back down in place. He shivers all over when his thumb accidentally—hah, yeah right—brushes against the hollow of Phil’s throat.

"Clint," Phil says, his voice hoarse, and that just _breaks_ Clint right in half, because in all their years together, Phil’s never used his first name. Ever.

Without even thinking, he’s backing Phil into the wall, hands cupping his face as tenderly as they would his bow, and Clint’s kissing him. It’s everything. It’s _everything_. Every moment from the last ten years is buried in this kiss. All the want and need and frustration. All the fear and frustration. All the friendship. And frustration. 

Did Clint mention the frustration?

And Phil is kissing him right back, putting his own spin on things, letting Clint know with the little growl and the nip of teeth into his bottom lip that he’s been feeling the same frustration.

By the time Clint falls to his knees and begins mouthing at the front of Phil’s pants, there’s no more question of whether Phil consents or not. He’s eagerly tugging on Clint’s short hair, nails biting into the back of his neck as he huskily urges Clint to move faster.

**Author's Note:**

> [I tumblr, but mostly about half nekkid, broken and beautiful werewolves.](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com)


End file.
